War Bound
by MyTi-Savage
Summary: It's 1940 in the heat of World War II. James Tucker is drafted into the U.S. Army. This story fallows James through his journey of war and distruction.
1. Drafted

Just so you know, I will post more chapters. This isn't the whole story. If people actualy read this I might actualy write another story after this. I hope you enjoy.

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><p>Quickly James filed the rest of his papers for the day. James was eager to get home. To get to his loving wife. And to get to the Packers game that was on that night. James found the letter "M" in his filing cabinet then quickly grabbed the file he needed. The file read "Marlot, Tom" at the top in bold black letters.<p>

On his way home James decided to pick up some flowers for his wife Betty. Lilies were her favourite. With the sweet smell of lilies surrounding him James sauntered in to his home.

"Betty, I'm home." He called through the house.

Betty was in the kitchen when she replied. "Dinner will be ready in just a shake dear."

With that James crept into the kitchen and presented the flowers to his wife while kissing her.

The mail was on the table waiting for James. He sorted through it. Junk. Junk. Letter from mom. Junk. Jun…Wait! The letter was addressed to him. He stared at it. In perfectly typed letters at the top read "Department of U.S. Defense." Hurriedly James opened the letter. Before he could stop himself he was reading the words. Those foul words.

_"Dear Mr. James Tucker,_

_You are here by summoned to serve in the U.S. Army to defend and protect your county. It is my great honor as President of the United States of America to tell you this news. Please report to blah blah blah. And do blah blah blah. Tell so and so blah blah blah. And… _

_Sincerely,_

_Franklin D. Roosevelt_

James stood there frozen in the kitchen. He was paralyzed with the sheer shock of the letter. This simple piece of paper just told him to give up his home, his wife, his job, and most likely his life.

Betty saw the change in James. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"I…I think I just got drafted." The words fell like ice. They broke. Shattered. But most of all they pieced.

With a blank face Betty walked over and read the letter. Then without saying a word she began to set the table and serve the food.

One week later James reported as instructed to the Military Draft Office at exactly 0800 hours. The building was tall and thin. The walls were made of painted brick. Each floor contained one window facing out to the road. In the middle of the big oak door was a sign that read "We want you" in big red letters.

Once inside James noticed four desks facing the door. Behind each desk sat an officer in military attire with a clip board. Two of the four desks already had people being processed for military entrance. This left James with the choice of either a tall young man of about 24, or an older man with significantly more medals. James chose the first officer.

The man had a flat tone. "Name?"

"James. James Tucker."

The man looked up. "Date of birth?"

"June 9, 1919."

The man, still without emotion, said for James to report to the second floor.

After more than and hour of answering questions, filling out paperwork, and being shifted from one place to another, James finally was instructed to go home and report back tomorrow.

At 0600 hours James arrived at the front door of the Draft Office. "We want you" was spat into his face once again by the man in the tall hat pointing in the poster. James stepped inside. Once again there were four desks facing him, only this time none of the desks had clients. James started to walk to the young man he had talked to before. As he took his second step the old man instructed him to go directly to the second floor.

James had always been proud of his appearance. He wasn't vain; he just knew he was handsome. One of his most noticeable features was his hair. It was a deep rich brown and as soft as rabbit fur. James liked to keep his hair about an inch long. When he combed it back the small waves became apparent.

The first thing James met when he entered the second floor was "Mr. Buzz-Cut." Mr. Buzz-Cut got his name because he was in charge of giving all of the hair cuts in this building.

James thanked the man for the "beautiful job" and headed onward. James felt his scalp. All that remained of his beautiful hair was one millimeter of stubble. The coarse hair tickled the palm of James' right hand. Up a head of him James saw the next man. This man was standing in front of what appeared to be a large shower stall. The only problem was that the man (Mr. Cold-Shower) was holding a low pressure fire hose.

As James stood in the military shower dripping and shivering, he was then handed a set of military issue fatigues. The new wardrobe consisted of: one white undershirt, one set of dog tags, a pair of green pants, a green shirt, one pair of not-quite-white socks, and a pair of black Army issue boots.

The next three hours held for him the joy of sitting in the back of an Army truck crammed with other men. James watched as the city disappeared. Then more city appeared. This ritual continued for some time. Finally the truck stopped with one final lurch.

As James and the other men disembarked from the truck they were greeted by a long low grey building. Next to this building stood a fenced yard. With in the yard was assembled what looked like a shooting range, a mud pit, and oversized children's play equipment. James stood staring, as did the rest of the men, at the soldiers training in the yard.

"Alright ladies" said the driver of the truck. "Let's get our asses inside."

In a single file line 16 men filed into their new home.


	2. Call It Home

As James entered the barracks he was greeted by two impeccably long rows of bunk beds. Each bed was covered with an army drab blanket and a white pillow. On either side of the bunk beds stood a tall locker. James was instructed that the lockers were for his boots and clothing.

While James was inspecting his new surroundings a line of men filed into the room. They proceeded to march to their bunks and stand erect. After the men entered a stall officer swaggered in.

"I'm Corporal Jefferson!" He barked at the men.

"You shall call me nothing other than Corporal Jefferson, or sir. Do you understand?"

The men quickly replied "Sir, yes sir!"

The corporal then inspected each bunk like he was looking at a new born baby.

When he found a bunk he was not satisfied with he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Whose fucking bunk is this?"

A tall young man stood forward. "Mine sir." He tried to say it confidently, but you could hear the boyish uncertainty.

"Drop and give me fifty."

James stood rigidly. He watched with the horror of realization. In this instant he realized this was his new job. This was his new home. This was his life.

Later in the mess hall James stood in line for his dinner. In his hands was metal tray. Upon the tray stood three piles. Pile 1: mashed potatoes, pile 2: mashed meat, and pile 3: mashed mixed vegetables. As he made his way through the line he sought a place to sit in the dining hall. In the back corner there was a table with only two men at it.

James sat down and looked at the two other men to see if they minded. The man across and to the left of him was short, stocky, and had fiery red hair. He spoke first.

"How ya doin' mate? My name's O'Brian, and this here's my mate Elliot."

Elliot was tall and lean. He had blond stubble upon his head as well as his jaw. He had a look about his eyes. A look that said that he had known a better life.

"Uh, my name's Tucker. Is it okay if I sit here?"

Once again O'Brian spoke up. "Why sure, we don't mind." O'Brian's Irish accent poked out at the edges of his voice.

James sat down and began eating his piles of mashed food. The potatoes were dry and bland. James finished them off and moved on. The meat was salty and tough. The vegetables weren't any better. James looked at Elliot and O'Brian's trays. Both men had mixed all of their piles together to one big soupy mass.

O'Brian saw James looking at his tray. "If you mix it all together the seasonings and textures come out be just about right."

"Thanks for the hint."

"Loosen up Tucker, we're all just trying to survive and get home. I'll help whenever I can."

That was the first ray of hope and happiness James had felt since he got there.

That night James was cold and uncomfortable. He had a fitful night of sleep. And didn't feel well rested when he woke in the morning. 04:00 hours. The barracks officer woke the men by sounding the morning alarm. The shrill buzz cut through the morning air like a box knife through a banana.

The men were then allowed 15 minutes to shave and get dressed. After this Corporal Jefferson inspected the bunks. James was relieved with the fact that he didn't have to do push-ups.

Breakfast consisted of watery scrambled eggs, burned toast, and under cooked corned beef hash. James was greeted by O'Brian and Elliot.

"Well there, mornin' sunshine. How'd ya sleep?" O'Brian said in a sing song tone.

"Like a baby. Thanks for asking."

James then proceeded to do as Elliot and O'Brian had with their own breakfast. He took his eggs and hash and mixed it together. Then he broke his toast into small pieces and mixed that in as well. The consistency was a slimy chunky mass. The flavor wasn't half bad though.

The men were marched to the training camp portion of the compound. Once there they were broken into three groups. The first group consisted of stockier men. This is where O'Brian was sent.

Group two was made up of lanky men with less muscle. These men were still in shape, they just didn't have as much brute force. The last group is where James was sent. This group was highly physically fit. All of the men in this group where moderately tall, muscular but not bulky, and of slightly higher intellect.

"Five mile run ladies." That was all that needed to be said.

The men got back in roughly twenty five minutes. James was winded and tired, but not flat out exhausted. He had developed a blister on his left foot at about mile number two. After that the run had been relatively easy.

"Too the range men!"

The men trudged to the shooting range. Once there they were required to test both a machine gun and a long shot rifle.

James took aim. Through his rifle sight he could easily see the target on the dummy ahead of him. The warm wood of the barrel was against his cheek. The pointer finger of his right hand sensed the cold of steel. Aim. Squeeze. Bang. 500 feet away he saw the head of the dummy explode into dust.

A voice from behind him made him jump slightly. "Good, now do it again."

James moved over. Aim. Squeeze. Bang. Once again a cloud of dust. Aim. Squeeze. Bang. Cloud of dust. Once James was told to stop he had decapitated eight dummies.

"Now move on to the machine gun." Came the voice.

James did as he was told. Each round rang out. The air was filled with dust, noise, and falling shells. James was then told to go to personal combat training.

The man in the ring was about the same age as James. This man however was more muscular and slightly taller. The word "go" was barked at the men. With that one simple word James attacked. Within a span of roughly fifteen seconds James had the other man on the ground screaming in agony.

"Enough!"

James released the man and stood. The sad sounds of whimpering floated to his ears from where the other man lay.

"Good. Now come with me."

James fallowed as the short gruff Sergeant Major escorted him to an office.

"Sit."

James complied. The office had natural wood walls, blue tile floor, a massive oak desk with a swivel chair behind it and two black leather chairs in front of it. James sat. He was a fast learner and remembered that he should sit erect and not get comfortable. On the wall behind the desk was a picture. In the picture was a man with dark hair with patches of silver at the temples. He was dressed in dress greens with many medals. He had a stern face.

The door opened. James stood unintentionally and saluted. In front of him entered the man from the picture.

"I'm General Anderson. I'm told that you have shown exceptional qualities today. Tell me your name."

James boldly recited his name. "Tucker, James Tucker, sir."

With that General Anderson Reached into his desk and presented a small stack of yellow forms.


End file.
